


The Margaritaville Triangle

by passionfruits



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: M/M, there is far too much to tag but know that it's intense sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 18:49:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11927031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passionfruits/pseuds/passionfruits
Summary: Again and again and again and again. Four ways the yacht incident could have happened, out of infinite possibilities.





	The Margaritaville Triangle

_i._

 

It’s been a year since Robert moved in and ruined Joseph’s life with casual touches and a husky bark of a laugh. Six months since their first night out at Jim and Kim’s, a bond forged in drunken ramblings. Three months since Joseph offered Robert his sweater, heart pounding, and watched him shrug it over his shoulders like it was no big deal. A week since Joseph worked up the courage to invite Robert out, somewhere they could escape their troubles for a time. And here he is, standing on Joseph’s yacht with a shy smile, a wine glass cradled in his huge, scarred, beautiful hand. Just the two of them and the ocean’s endless blue.

 

And a king-sized bed belowdecks.

 

Standing beside Robert just out of arm’s reach, Joseph leans back against the railing, shifting his weight from hip to hip. _He has a wife. A wife he probably loves very much and has amazing, fulfilling sex with._

 

 _You have a wife._ He bites his lip. _That’s it._

 

Joseph’s pretty sure Robert’s not like him. Not at all. Sure, Robert’s cagey with his emotions. But even if he doesn’t express or understand them—and God if Joseph hasn’t spent countless nights watching Robert start and stop to talk about something deeper than tales so tall you’d need to climb the Tower of Babel to reach the soul of them—he wouldn’t settle for living a lie. He makes up his stories to entertain and tease. To hide, yes, but from others.

 

Not from himself. Not exactly. They’re parallel trainwrecks, running on different tracks in opposite directions.

 

Still, it’s a form of protection. Survival. Self-preservation.

 

Bitter fermentation coats Joseph’s tongue, heavy with nerves and the unspoken weight of what’s happening between them. Robert’s silent. Nothing unusual. It’d be comfortable, normally, if Joseph wasn’t hot around the neck. He swallows and tugs at his suddenly itchy collar, sidles a little closer. He opens his mouth without thinking beforehand, something he never does. “You know what I love about the ocean?” God, how vapid.

 

Robert’s mouth turns up at the corner like he’s happy to indulge Joseph’s rambling, if no one else’s. “What,” he says, tone flat. His questions are always like that—statements.

 

“It’s neutral.” Joseph stares out across the vast expanse of water, rocking as it always has and always will. “No matter who or what you are, the sea doesn’t care. You’re at nature’s mercy. The fairest, safest, most brutal place I know.” He blinks. Maybe that’s too heavy, too vulnerable for Robert. He should take the edge off. He opens his mouth again. “You might say it’s…eem- _ocean_ -less."

 

Robert throws his head back, groaning. Light plays up and down his Adam’s apple. Joseph reels, resisting the temptation to swoop in and take a bite.

 

The forbidden fruit of paradise. God, does Joseph want to sink his teeth into the knowledge of good and evil.

 

Robert carelessly tilts his head toward Joseph, wiry bangs tumbling into his eyes. An irresistible shaggy puppy look. Joseph lifts his hand to Robert’s temple, pushes the hair back. He just wants to stare into those deep brown eyes, heady as tobacco, but his palm against Robert’s skin is electric. Joseph lets go like he’s been singed.

 

Robert stiffens. But he doesn’t step away. He takes in a long breath, nostrils flaring. With knitted eyebrows, he reaches toward Joseph’s face. Joseph leans his cheek into callused fingertips. A thumb presses into his lower lip. A happy sigh escapes Joseph, met with an approving grunt from Robert, who runs his fingers through Joseph’s hair. When he reaches the nape of his neck, Robert tugs him forward, their noses brushing, foreheads touching. “Be goddamn honest for once, Joe.” His breath is hot against Joseph’s lips. He wants to lean forward so badly. God, but he does. His eyes are glued to the way Robert’s mouth forces the words past gritted teeth; he fancies it’s just like the grille Catholics use during confession. “You can’t deny it. Us, we’ve...” He steps back, gestures between the two of them, frustration at the lack of words coloring his face. “Something’s here. Why are you pussyfooting around?“

 

“Stop.“ Joseph’s lips tremble; he hates the burning in his throat he can’t swallow away, the moisture in his eyes he can’t blink for fear of tears falling. “It doesn’t matter. We’re both…” _Married._ The word tangles his tongue like a noose.

 

“I wasn’t planning on this, either. But it happened.” Robert hooks his thumbs through his belt loops, scuffs the ground. “It’s happening. Come out and say it.”

 

Hesitant, Joseph places a hand on Robert’s neck. The pulse beneath his thumb is beating fast as his. He’s just so lonely. It’s not like he can talk to Mary—can’t upset her with—this—

 

“I’ve filled out the paperwork.” Wine emboldens Joseph’s tongue. “It’s sitting on my desk right now. We’re getting divorced.”

 

 _It’s true, it’s true, it’s true. This time. For sure. I’ll have Mary sign them first thing tomorrow._ He always hopes she’ll see them, turn them in herself. _Coward._

 

“Yeah, sure. Me goddamn too.” Robert snorts. “So what?”

 

“I want you. I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you.”

 

Robert flushes. “Why?”

 

Joseph can’t say it. Can’t give it a name, can’t acknowledge it, can’t make it real. “You know why,” he whispers. His hands knot in Robert’s collar, tugging him into a raw kiss.

 

The world turns from gray to vivid technicolor. Joseph’s heart beats to the tune of the angels’ heavenly choir. _This is right_ , he thinks, as the heat of Robert’s tongue pierces him, nails him to the cross of their mouths.

 

Fire and brimstone. Pulpits and pews, sermons and shame, his father’s sharp tongue and sharper belt, the scent of musk and oakmoss cologne that makes him sick to this day—all obliterated by a pretty boy’s lips.

 

A pretty boy’s hips. Robert’s jeans rub against Joseph’s khakis, a hard and awkward meshing of fabrics. Heat pools in his stomach. Joseph wraps his arms around Robert’s neck and leans into his warmth. All he can think is _Robert._ His teeth tug sharp at Joseph’s earlobe. He shudders as Robert’s tongue flickers hot and wet inside the shell of his ear. Blood rushes to his groin and leaves his head spinning; he gasps for air, and Robert presses their noses together, breaths commingling—wine and heavy lust.

 

They lock eyes. Joseph finds what he needs to in the tremor of Robert’s eyelids, the dilation of his pupils. He slides his hands down Robert’s arms, fingers entwining, drawing him toward the stairs.

 

Robert frowns, stays rigid. Joseph leans in, tightens his grip. Robert’s neck tenses. He yanks his hands free—Joseph grabs his face, fingers desperately trembling against the rough beginnings of a beard—and Robert’s upper lip curls. Wildfire consumes his eyes. He’s either gonna punch Joseph or—

 

His teeth drag across Joseph’s lip so hard hot blood spills into their mouths. Joseph doesn’t feel pain, only delighted by the contact, the sensation; his hands slide down Robert’s spine, wrap around his thighs and lifts; he carries him until they’re flush against the cabin door. He fumbles it open and they trip down the stairs. Robert’s angry mouth and hands rake Joseph’s skin and hair; he manages to toss Robert onto the bed and straddle his legs, kicking his boat shoes onto the floor, peeling off his socks. Robert shoves Joseph off, and onto his side. Joseph leans on an elbow with an amused smile as Robert shucks off his jacket, hissing when the zipper catches in his haste to strip.

 

With a chuckle, Joseph frees Robert’s zipper and slips the jacket from his shoulders. The leather is hot; hot as Robert’s heaving chest when Joseph presses his tongue into the hollow of his sternum, fingers rolling the hem of Robert’s shirt up and over his head. He lays his hands on Robert’s shoulders, a gentle pressure, just enough to know that when Robert falls back on his elbows, it’s because he let Joseph push him down.

 

He sits back on his heels, savors the tableau. It's so dark he can only see what's right in front of him, but that's more than enough. Robert, lying on his bed half-naked, half-hard, all gorgeous. Robert, looking up at him from beneath thick eyelashes, some kinda distrust glimmering in those dark brown eyes.

 

Robert. A man. A man's body.

 

Joseph takes a shuddering breath and crawls forward. Robert’s hands slip under his shirt, leaving a trail of fiery touches; the polo is off before Joseph can land a kiss. He runs his palms over the muscles hidden beneath the soft layer of Robert’s stomach, digs his fingers into dark patches of chest hair like a parched man drowning in an oasis. Robert grimaces, his nails digging into Joseph’s hips. With a quick kick from Robert, Joseph’s legs buckle; he falls into Robert, who takes the opportunity to roll over and onto him, pressing his teeth into Joseph’s neck, his knee in the crotch of Joseph’s khakis—and a rapidly swelling erection. The sharp pain makes Joseph swallow hard, his gaze flickering to Robert’s.

 

Robert smirks, eyes glinting. He grabs a fistful of Joseph’s hair and tugs, exposing his neck for better access, nipping at his thumping pulse point. Joseph wraps his arms around Robert’s waist, drags his nails up his back, buries his nose in the crook of Robert’s neck. Layered spice and balsam fill his nose. A sharp tugging around his waist alerts him to Robert undoing his belt buckle, a hand grazing his innermost thigh.

 

Joseph runs his hands all the way down Robert’s back, squeezing the curve of his ass. Robert grunts his approval and shifts, hips moving against the front of Joseph’s pants. Robert reaches further in, breath shallow against Joseph’s neck, and squeezes his cock.

 

A burst of heat, a flash of red behind his fluttering eyes. Joseph’s breath hitches. He slides his hands around Robert’s hips to press his right thumb into the tip of Robert’s cock, his left drumming against the pulse of his femoral artery.

 

Flushed, Robert kisses him, hot tongue and a rumbling deep in his throat. Heat spreads from Joseph’s chest through his bloodstream, to every extremity. He huffs between Robert’s fervent kisses, chest to chest, hip to hip, and squirms from under him, toward the dresser, groping for a tiny bottle of lubricant. When he retrieves it, a flash of sobriety passes over Robert's face. They pause, lying on their sides, face-to-face. Joseph opens his mouth to ask—he doesn’t know what, something, anything—but then Robert seals his lips with a kiss, presses a palm into Joseph’s chest, massaging the curve of his pecs. His smirk twitching against Joseph’s lips, Robert undoes Joseph’s zipper, pulls his cock through the hole, covers it with warming oil. Joseph’s mind is a shock of searing white heat, lost in the perfect hands he dreams of every time he touches himself. He places his hands over Robert’s, gliding up and down as he hardens, gazes locked. Robert’s half-lidded eyes are feverish, bright as Joseph’s prickling-hot cheeks.

 

Unity.

 

Shuddering, Joseph tugs the button on Robert’s jeans open. With his pulse beating in his ears, the sound of the zipper sliding down is loud as a thunderclap. He reaches in, tugs Robert’s cock free, already stiff, thick in his slippery hands. He smiles at that. Coupled with how fierce Robert’s acting, it’s cute—how bad he wants Joseph.

 

Running his tongue along the backs of his teeth, Joseph taps his thumb against the slit, trails his fingers along the underside. Robert’s eyelashes flutter; a groan escapes him. His cock twitches at Joseph’s touch, his thighs shifting, clenching, hands squeezing around Joseph’s balls.

 

Joseph’s tongue trails Robert’s clavicles, kissing up his neck, cheek, eyes, forehead. Robert snorts, teeth gritted. He grabs Joseph’s neck, thumb pressed into the hollow of his throat, and bites his way to a nipple, pumping his cock harder. His teeth dig into Joseph’s flesh, sending snaps of sharp pleasure to his brain, leaving indentations on every inch of his chest.

 

Joseph breathes deep, sweat beading on his skin. His body shakes, sensitive to every feather-light brush, acutely aware of Robert’s thumb in his throat with every swallow. And Robert’s not exactly tender; even his breath is harsh against Joseph’s skin, gasps punctuated by wordless groans.

 

Joseph mashes his hips into Robert’s. Their legs in a tangle, Joseph’s feet rub against Robert’s calves through jean fabric, gluteal muscles clenching as he thrusts into Robert’s hand. One hand digs into the meat of Robert's ass, mapping the same muscle patterns, slides along the ripples in his back to trace the breadth of his shoulders; the other strokes Robert from the soft skin below his balls to the tip of his cock, matching the movements of his hips.

 

Robert’s touch slows, his fingers tugging long, artful trails along Joseph’s shaft, drawing shivery gasps from Joseph’s chest with every stroke. His free hand slides from Joseph’s neck to the back of his head, pulling him into a kiss, eyes wide open, gaze piercing straight through to Joseph’s soul. The fire in Joseph’s core flares, spilling a molten pool of lava into his bloodstream. Joseph convulses, ripples of hot pleasure shuddering through his stomach, coating Robert’s hands in strands of white.

 

Orgasm leaves Joseph pure and empty. His lips hum with pleasure. It zings up and down his palms and soles.

 

Fire and brimstone.

 

Joseph presses a spot near the base of Robert’s cock that makes his breath hitch, gasp, his voice a continuous rumble; Joseph pushes harder, faster, adds a second hand to stroke the tip until Robert comes into his hand with a moan. Joseph stares into Robert’s glazed eyes as he licks his sticky hand clean, the other fondling his cock as it quivers.

 

Before Joseph can pull Robert close, kiss him, fall asleep in his arms, Robert wipes his hand on Joseph’s khakis and rolls over. Joseph finds himself staring at the wide expanse of Robert’s back, slick with sweat. Might as well be the wall of Jericho.

 

Except Joseph doesn’t think stomps and shouts will break this one down.

 

He falls on his back. Watches shadows play across the ceiling.

 

It must be sweat, burning his eyes.

 

Somehow, Robert is up and showered first. Joseph finds him hunched over the prow, cigarette in hand. Gray smoke trails fade into the sky. Into nothing.

 

He doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t speak.

 

Joseph leaves him, heads to the bridge. He enters the proper waypoints, takes the wheel, and guides the yacht toward shore.

 

His eyes are on Robert’s back, so still not even the tendons in his neck shift.

 

Sins of the flesh, the heart, the mind—they’re all the same. Doesn’t matter if you’ve done them or not. But repentance is a beautiful thing. A slate wiped clean. God remembers no more.

 

Sacred. Profane. Same thing. Time and again.

 

Next time. He squints at the sun until he’s forced to look away. Next time, he’ll show Robert how to tie the ropes. How to punish him.

 

Joseph chews on his lip. What can he do? The last thing Robert said to him, the last thing he asked— _why._

 

Joseph didn’t answer. Robert’s probably still waiting.

 

Too late now. Hazy shapes form on the horizon.

 

Land, ho.

 

They stand on the docks, a good six feet apart. Robert jams his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “So. Divorce.”

 

The heat of the midday sun burns the back of Joseph’s neck. A beacon in a clear blue sky. Nowhere to hide. “Robert, you know I…I care for Mary deeply. And our children—they’re still too young to understand.”

 

Robert’s head is bobbing, but it’s not an understanding nod; it’s frenetic. He crosses his arms.

 

Words spill from Joseph’s lips, a torrent of ugly emotion he can’t verbalize roiling beneath them. “I can’t just…I can’t shatter all of their lives for my sake. That would be unforgivably selfish.”

 

Robert stares.

 

“Do you…do you understand what I’m saying? I still—I want to be with you, but it has to be…like this.”

 

The silence thickens, so tense Joseph is sure he’ll choke if he takes one breath.

 

And then Robert laughs. He guffaws, full-bodied, bent at the waist, clutching his stomach, tears in his eyes. “You think—you really, honestly think I’m stupid enough to fall for that?”

 

Joseph’s heart plummets to his stomach. “What?”

 

“Christ,” he wipes his eyes, straightening, “the lines. You’re reading from a player’s handbook. No cue cards, I’ll give you that. Practiced this a million times, I’m sure.”

 

“Robert—“ Joseph steps forward, reaches a hand toward his shoulder.

 

“No.” Robert slaps his hand away, shoves a finger in his face. “You shut the fuck up and you don’t touch me, prick. Mary’s my best goddamn friend. Best person I’ve ever known. Too damn good for you. Why do you think I went with you? Because your transparent fucking invitation was so damn irresistible? A cruise for two? She knows what you do. She asked me to accept.”

 

Joseph’s face flushes, humiliated, eyes watering. He wields his words like a cane, striking where they’ll hurt most. “Did she tell you to fuck her husband?”

 

Robert is silent, a muscle in his jaw feathering.

 

“Did you tell Marilyn? Your wife?”

 

Color blooms in Robert’s cheeks; a disgrace Joseph knows well.

 

“I thought so.” Joseph spits the words, coated in bitterness.

 

Robert scoffs, turns, and starts walking.

 

“You wanted this,” Joseph calls, voice low as the grave.

 

Robert stops. “Yeah,” he says, back to Joseph. “The only one I hate more than you is me.”

 

Robert walks away. His back again. Joseph takes a stumbling step forward.

 

What can he say? Shame and years and pain and a bleak desert wasteland of loneliness. How?

 

 _Stop._ His heart is wild, pounding against his ribcage, begging him to confess the truth, the horror, confess, repent, absolve. _Come back. I—_

 

It all dies in Joseph’s throat.

 

He reels. He falls to his knees, a sob escaping his chest, knuckles pressed into concrete. The world fades, back to a dull gray, colors bleeding and blurring into nothingness, behind the drying tears and the snuffed flame in his caged heart.

 

He gets back up, wipes his eyes, brushes the dirt from his knees. That’ll be a pain. Dry-cleaning. He’ll deal with it.

 

He’ll deal with it.

 

_ii._

 

Joseph stands at the prow, golden sun caressing his hair. “We’re over, me and Mary,” he says, with the most beautifully wistful smile. “I can finally have the future I always wanted. With you.”

 

Robert doesn’t know Joseph’s wife very well, but he believes it. He’s never seen an unhappier woman. At least, judging by the glimpses he’s gotten of her. Dark eyes, dark lips, dark wine in shaking fingers. They both deserve to be free of their sham of a marriage.

 

And doesn’t Robert deserve one thing in this godforsaken world?

 

It feels like there’s an ocean between them, but there’s not. Just a bit of railing. Robert reaches out. Joseph leans in. The taste of sun and salt lingers on Joseph’s skin.

 

Sun and salt.

 

Salt, as Joseph presses him into the bed, sweat dripping from his forehead onto Robert’s lips. Robert’s body is warm, warm with tequila and wine, just enough to be buzzed, enough for his tongue to be clumsy, for him not to know if he can pin Joseph down and fuck him like he wants to, for his hands to shake for how long he’s wanted this, wanted Joseph, and never dreamed that—

 

Pain. A shock makes its way to Robert’s brain; he gasps, glances down. Joseph’s nails are digging into his nipples, his teeth buried in the sensitive flesh at the base of Robert’s neck.

 

“Is that bad?” Joseph grins, sheepish, but his eyes are flooded with lust.

 

“No.” Robert swallows. “That’s good.”

 

So Joseph keeps biting. And Robert’s body gets warmer.

 

Joseph’s arms, roped with muscle, slide up the sides of Robert’s head, trapping his face between curved biceps. Heavy. Sweaty. Hot. Joseph's breath is a margarita-laced flutter against his lips. “Can I kiss you?”

 

Of all the things to ask. For some stupid reason, it makes Robert blush. He stares at Joseph’s lips. Full. Pale pink. Parted slightly, trembling. “Yeah,” he says, gruff.

 

Joseph smiles so sweetly Robert thinks he might die. His lips are soft, planting a few chaste kisses until his tongue probes past his teeth. Robert breathes through his nose, sucks Joseph’s tongue into his mouth. God, can he kiss.

 

With a happy chuckle against Robert’s lips, Joseph’s hands slide across his chest, teasing the hair trailing down his stomach.

 

“Wait,” Robert mumbles, afraid he’ll burst if Joseph’s fingers wander any lower. “Let me…let me.“

 

Joseph stops immediately and rolls off, waiting with a grin. Stumbling, Robert pulls him off the bed, kisses him over to the middle window. Guiding Joseph by the shoulders, Robert turns him around, presses his face into the cold glass.

 

He just wants a moment to take it all in, take Joseph’s body in, every highlight and shadow framed by pale moonlight. The blond hair ending in a cowlick on his neck, the sparse moles forming tiny constellations on his shoulder blades, the dimples in his back, the ridiculous curves of his muscles, his ass, his long, shapely legs.

 

His hands gravitate to the backs of Joseph’s thighs, slide between them. He squeezes the soft flesh. So warm.

 

Looking over his shoulder, Joseph twists his torso to lock his arms around Robert’s neck. Robert stares at the shadowy reflection in the mirror. Joseph looks like that old painting of a saint, Robert can’t remember which; a vulnerable martyr with hands tied, shot through with arrows.

 

But Robert doesn’t need to tie Joseph’s arms. Joseph holds his own wrists behind Robert’s neck, fingers tufting his hair, allowing Robert to pet his chest, pinch his nipples, run his hands down the muscles of his ribcage, his soft abdomen. Robert caresses the beautiful lines running from hip bones to pelvis until Joseph slides his ass back against Robert’s cock.

 

Breathing sharp, Robert thrusts up, once, twice. His mouth is watering too damn much. At least it’s good for something. He spits into his hand, rubs it into his shaft. He thrusts again, pushing between Joseph’s soft, hot thighs, rubbing against the base of Joseph’s balls.

 

“You wanna come like this?” Joseph sounds amused, his gaze flickering to the tip of Robert’s cock sliding in and out of view between his legs.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Joseph cranes his neck, mouth parted. Robert bites his lips, kisses him, tightens his arms around his neck.

 

Joseph’s cheek and chest and cock are flush against the glass. His arched back rocks with Robert’s thrusts. “Joe,” Robert groans. He kisses him in one endless stream, layers of warmth building from his scalp to his toes. It’s too much; the haze of sweat and heat, the flavor of alcohol on their entwined tongues, the fluty whines escaping Joseph’s nose as he breathes through kisses.

 

Joseph clenches every muscle in his thighs, so tight it sends Robert over the edge, heat pouring through him, eyes shuttering, thrusting until he physically can’t. He leans his feverish forehead against the shocking cold of the glass, wilting against Joseph’s taut body.

 

His come slides down the window in ropy streaks.

 

With one long kiss, Joseph slips from Robert’s arms and slides onto the couch. He cocks his head to the side, an expectant smirk carved in his lips, highlighted by moonbeams.

 

Robert waits for his face to cool, for his ragged breath to even out. He kneels between Joseph’s legs. His are still shaking with aftershocks. His fingers creep down Joseph’s shins, wrap around his feet. Leaning his cheek against Joseph’s right knee, he draws his left leg up. He kisses Joseph’s heel, licks his arch. Joseph startles with an audible gasp, eyelashes fluttering. Robert smiles, drags his teeth along his foot. When he reaches Joseph’s big toe, he sucks it into his mouth, bites and licks while he massages his sole.

 

Joseph groans, loud and long, a knuckle between his teeth.

 

Robert takes that as encouragement—though he doesn’t really need it; Joseph’s cock lays across his thigh, hard as hell. Robert leans forward, kissing his way up, spreading Joseph’s legs wide. He licks from his ass to his balls, gently sucking them into his mouth. Joseph shifts, leather squeaking beneath him, sliding forward to give Robert better access.

 

Robert looks up, licking his lips with a simper. “Guide me, captain.”

 

Joseph’s eyes flash. He reaches into a drawer and pulls something out, then grabs Robert’s left hand, pressing it into the chair arm. “You want me to give you a wheel?”

 

Joseph’s holding a needle and ink. Something in Robert—alcohol, lust, love—makes him think this is a great idea. “Make it pretty,” he says, and wraps his lips around Joseph’s cock.

 

All right, so maybe a tipsy man getting a sloppy blowjob isn’t the best tattoo artist. But Robert’s not feeling much pain, can’t really trace the patterns Joseph’s making, so he’s not giving it much thought; his attention is consumed by every twitch and jerk of Joseph’s cock as he flicks his tongue against the slit, massaging the base with his right hand. He takes his time, popping off to suck his balls, lick along the underside, slide the full length of Joseph’s cock down his throat again.

 

Joseph’s breath is labored. He stops pricking Robert’s skin, his hips rising, grinding against his mouth. “Rob,” he gasps. “Swallow it, baby.” His hands clench in Robert’s hair, holding him down, sending sharp aches through his skull. Robert chokes, but keeps sucking, determined to make Joseph finish in his mouth.

 

He bobs until Joseph’s thighs quiver and a hot burst of come hits the back of his throat. He swallows, licks until Joseph stops shaking, his fingers tracing the outline of his cock through Robert’s cheek.

 

Robert crawls onto Joseph’s lap and kisses, kisses, kisses him. Joseph’s hands tremble on his hips.

 

Joseph completes the tattoo as they lie together. It hurts more now, intoxication and lust faded, but Robert doesn’t really mind. He’s too damn happy. They kiss until Robert falls asleep, looking into Joseph’s soft eyes and the light wrinkles framing them.

 

Robert doesn’t see him for a week. Finally, after nights of peeking through his blinds to see when Joseph gets home, he slinks around back, throwing rocks at his bathroom window like an idiot kid.

 

Joseph hustles through the sliding glass door to the backyard right quick at that, wrapped in a dressing robe, brow furrowed. “Robert,” he says, in the voice he uses to reprimand his kids.

 

“Joseph.” Robert tries not to choke on the word. “Thought we’d be on our honeymoon by now.”

 

“Oh. Right.” Joseph bites his lip, a hand over his heart. “Well, the thing is…Mary and I…we’ve worked things out.” His gaze is trained solidly on his stupid, fuzzy slippers.

 

“Worked things out.” Robert repeats the words mechanically, chewing on them like cud.

 

“I thought you knew what…that was.”

 

Robert licks his lips, furious. “I’m pretty sure you told me what it was, Joseph. I’m pretty sure you told me you were gonna be with me.”

 

“I’m sorry if you wanted…something more, but—“ Joseph’s shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. He favors his right arm, careful not to touch his left. “It’s just not possible.” His hand falls heavy on Robert’s back. A friendly pat. “I’ll never forget the time we shared.”

 

Robert’s jaw drops. “You fucking—“ He thrusts his hand forward. “You fucking _branded me.”_

 

Joseph wrinkles his nose like Robert’s shoved a dead rat in his face. “I was _drunk_ , Rob. It was a mistake.”

 

Bile stings his throat. “You don’t call me that,” he spits. “You call me that again, I’ll fucking drop you.”

 

Joseph’s neck stiffens. “Fine.” He starts to turn away.

 

Robert yanks the neck of Joseph’s robe open, exposing his left shoulder to the cold night air. A fresh tattoo, etched red into his skin. A twin to Robert's. His heart pounds. “You don’t do this shit for a one-night stand, sweetheart.”

 

Joseph shrugs the robe back onto his shoulder and reties his sash, chin thrust in the air like he’s got some dignity to protect. “Good night. Robert.” His tone is clipped, prissy. He walks inside, slams the sliding door shut, and storms upstairs.

 

This is the last time Robert will trust. Anyone. Anything. He digs his nails into the tender, red marks around the tattoo on his hand. The pain isn’t that bad. That’s not what stings.

 

His heart still aches for him.

 

Robert storms across the pristine lawn, passing the Christiansen’s front door. Mary stands on the porch, nursing her wine.

 

He stops, frozen. She raises her eyebrows and, after a moment, her glass. "Seems you owe a girl a drink."

 

Gut clenched with shame at his own stupidity, he nods.

 

She smiles. It's almost sympathetic. Pitying. A show of solidarity. 

 

Dark eyes. Dark lips. Dark wine.

 

 

_iii._

 

Robert is a vision in a baby blue sweater, clutching his third glass of wine, grinning like a teenager on a date with the boy of his dreams. Joseph’s palms sweat. He rubs them against the fabric of his pants.

 

It’s not like he hasn’t done this a million times before. His body is a temple, and by God, does he worship.

 

Robert is a treat, even among Joseph’s usual indulgences. He must have married young, to have a teenage daughter. And he doesn't seem the type to cheat.

 

Not like Joseph. An honest-to-God innocent. He smiles, teeth sharp against his lips, hands trailing down Robert’s arms. “It’s over,” he murmurs, words that slip from his tongue like oil. “It’s been over for years.”

 

Robert beams so bright his dimples must ache.

 

If Joseph still believed—in the sanctity of marriage, God, anything—the wedding band would be a burning ring of fire around his finger, searing straight through his heartline.

 

But he doesn’t. So it doesn’t. It’s just a pretty piece of gold. A prop for a farce he can’t even claim is unique.

 

He plays the part so well. Fucking people up and over for a night of something other than numbness. Waking up and forgetting where, when, who he's with—what he is. A void of a black hole, a seething mass of infinite hunger, yearning, and pathetic loneliness. Like a child, taking and using and throwing away the broken.

 

Symptom versus source. One’s easier to treat. Easier to salve than solve, after decades.

 

With a sharp tug on his collar, Robert pulls Joseph into a passionate and utterly mediocre kiss. Joseph guides his tongue into an actual rhythm as he slots their hips together. Robert adjusts accordingly—points for enthusiasm; the boy could clearly be taught, and was more than happy to be led.

 

So Joseph carries him down. He throws Robert on the bed—perhaps a little too forcefully, as a wine-laced burp escapes him. Robert’s face turns an even deeper shade of red when the realizationof what he’s done hits. “Uh—sorry—“

 

“Don’t apologize.” Joseph tries not to chuckle. If something so small embarrasses Robert, this night is going to be truly decadent. “Strip for me.”

 

Joseph didn’t think it was possible for Robert to turn redder. He was wrong.

 

With trembling hands, Robert does as he’s told. He struggles with his sweater, revealing nicely toned biceps hugged by a white undershirt he peels off much more easily. In flattering amber lamplight, his torso is just as Joseph imagined, if a little softer around the edges; a fine layer of hair spreads across the lush curves of his chest, trailing off into a tantalizing path down his stomach. Robert shucks his jeans off and hesitates, glancing up at Joseph with a thumb hooked in the waistband of his plain black briefs.

 

“Lovely,” Joseph murmurs. He strips down to his boxers and slithers across the sheets, running a hand through the gray shocks in Robert’s bristled hair. He presses his palm into the rough beard on his cheek.

 

Robert’s fingers close around the ring. He glares. “Take it off.”

 

How frank. How charming. Joseph’s almost touched. He likes the sight of it glinting against Robert’s skin in the low cabin lights, but he might as well indulge his little paramour.

 

He slips the ring onto the dresser and wiggles his fingers in front of Robert’s face. “Better?”

 

Robert nods, shifts. “I’ve never...” He looks up at him, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

 

Joseph wants to laugh. Never what? Cheated? Fucked with a man? _Never?_ No such thing as never. Everyone’s the same.

 

There’s only _not yet._

 

They both know what’s happening. Months of scattering the bread crumbs Robert eagerly devoured; the kindly youth pastor listening to his woes, the comforting shoulder to cry on at his wife’s funeral, near-kisses, coquettish gestures, disarming touches, flirtatious back-and-forth, trading clothes, for Christ’s sake. No one can be that naive.

 

It’s Robert’s fault for believing him.

 

“It’s okay,” Joseph says, in a voice like decaying velvet. “I’ll teach you.” He's sure this man has only come two ways: jacking off hard and fast or crudely thrusting into a woman. He breathes into Robert’s ear, palm spread across his stomach. “You’ve dreamed of this?”

 

“Yes,” Robert gasps.

 

“You’ve touched yourself, fantasizing about me?”

 

Robert closes his eyes, jerks his chin. Confirmation.

 

“Show me how.”

 

Robert swallows, thickly. His hand disappears into his briefs; he exhales a soft moan.

 

Joseph strokes Robert’s lips, presses his forehead to his. “Tell me.” He stares into Robert’s eyes, darting about the room. “Spare no detail.”

 

Robert’s hands move under his briefs, his breath shallow. He closes his eyes a moment, then stares into Joseph’s, candid. “I want to fuck your tight ass till you cry. From behind, from the front, from the side, from above, from below. I want you to choke on my dick and like it. I want to take yours. I want your tongue deep inside my ass. I want you to wreck me. Use me. Come inside me. I want to worship every inch of your body. I want you to worship mine. I want…” He pauses. “I want everything.”

 

Obscene. Vulgar.And so sweetly callow.

 

“Good start,” Joseph says, and removes his boxers.

 

Robert stares. His eyes widen.

 

Joseph can’t help but smirk—though it’s probably nothing personal, if Robert’s really _never_. He snaps Robert’s waistband to, well, snap him out of it; Robert gets the message and quickly follows suit.

 

Joseph appraises him. Not bad. Thick, long enough, already hardening. He opens the bedside drawer, rummages through the neatly organized rows of ropes and blindfolds and toys until he finds a packet of condoms he places on the bedside table and an innocuous bottle of lube that he tosses beside Robert. He slips onto the bed, props himself on his elbow, trails his fingers along Robert’s hipbone. “Keep going.”

 

Robert hides his face in the hollow of Joseph’s neck, but he pours some lube into his palm, hands snaking down to his cock. His breath is shallow and hot on Joseph’s skin. It’s a precious display of embarrassment, but it tells Joseph more than Robert knows. He can trace every hitch in Robert’s breath between inhale and exhale, connect it the precise movement of his fingers. He seems to favor simple and fast, one hand working around the top, another squeezing the base.

 

A lack of finesse, certainly, but the man knows what he likes.

 

Joseph shifts, breathes into Robert’s ear. “You want me to touch you like that?”

 

“No.” Robert shudders. “I want you to blow me like that.”

 

Grinning, Joseph slaps a hand on Robert’s thigh. “Sit against the headboard.”

 

Robert scoots himself up until his back is pressed into the pillows, legs splayed at charming angles. Joseph lies down between them, suckling at the space where his thigh and pelvis meet. Robert’s hands find purchase in Joseph’s hair.

 

Slowly, Joseph sucks a path to the skin below Robert’s balls. Robert inhales sharply. His thighs clench, hands fist in Joseph’s hair; the harsh tugging sends a pleasant tingle down his spine. He flits his tongue against the sensitive spot, rapid little movements that bring a low whine rumbling through Robert’s chest.

 

God, he really is… _taintless._ Joseph’s lip twitches at the joke. He tilts his head, nose pressing into coarse hair, and runs his tongue along his balls. Robert exhales, groaning. Joseph folds Robert’s cock against his stomach, draws a straight line with his tongue up the underside. Lazily, he wraps his lips around the tip, exaggerating the sluicing sound of his mouth as he glides down once, then immediately back up and off.

 

Sweet boy, already dripping precum. Joseph smiles, rubs his palms into the soft muscle of Robert’s abdomen. “Is that enough?” He glances up, drinks in the sight of Robert’s tense stomach, the heaving peaks of his dark, hard nipples. His head is buried in pillows, chin pointing at the ceiling, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

 

“No,” Robert mumbles, damp hips grinding into Joseph’s cheek, eyes closed. “No. Don’t stop.”

 

Joseph doesn’t. He doubles down, one hand flickering against his asshole, one kneading his balls, mouth bobbing, tongue singing along Robert’s cock.

 

Robert’s quivering beneath him. “Joseph…I’m…” He chokes on a breath, hands knotted and shaking in Joseph’s hair. “I can’t…”

 

Joseph lets go, sucks down on Robert’s balls until his stuttered breathing slows, until the vise grip on his hair loosens. As soon as Robert’s stopped shaking, he starts the cycle over, again and again, endlessly teasing Robert to the edge and back.

 

“Please, Joe…” His face is red, sweat beading on his forehead, moisture in his eyes. “I gotta come.”

 

“No,” Joseph says, “not like this.” He grabs Robert’s hips, pulls him down until he’s lying flat on the bed, then rips open one of the lurid violet condom packets, efficiently rolls it down Robert’s cock, and straddles his torso. “In me.”

 

Robert’s stomach rises and falls, gently. He places hesitant hands on either side of Joseph’s hips.

 

“I said I’d teach you.” Joseph presses a salty kiss into Robert’s lips; he returns it, hot and open-mouthed, hands sliding down the center of Joseph’s ass. He sits on Robert’s stomach, introduces his fingers to Robert’s tongue. Robert sucks them into his mouth without hesitation.

 

“Good boy,” Joseph breathes, voice honeyed. “If you’re going to fuck me, I’ve got to stretch myself out. You can’t just thrust against me and expect your huge cock to slide in.”

 

Robert’s horny enough that he’s nodding at every word, eyes glazed over with lust, inhibitions shattered. His hands digs into the muscle of Joseph’s ass, tongue eddying around his fingers.

 

Joseph pulls his hand free and leans forward, slipping a finger inside himself. It’s second nature now, working his ass open; it’s unusual that he doesn’t have something inside already, but he wanted to give Robert some damn practical experience.

 

He nips at Robert’s earlobe. “You’re allowed to help, you know.”

 

Robert tilts his head for a kiss. Joseph obliges. Robert’s hands slide down, pressing tentatively below Joseph’s.

 

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Joseph murmurs. Robert’s fingers are hotter, warmer than his, clumsy yet strong, still slick with lube as they delve inside him. Robert finger curls at an angle that sends an electric jolt coursing along Joseph’s spine; he rocks back with a small gasp. “That’s plenty.”

 

Almost reluctantly, Robert pulls out, runs his hands back up and down Joseph’s ass. Joseph grasps Robert’s cock and eases himself down the full length of him, slowly, watching Robert’s expression shift from a shock of pleasure to deep euphoria, his mouth rounded by a low moan.

 

God, but Robert feels good inside him, hot and full and wet. He could get himself off in rapid succession like this. With a quick kiss pressed into Robert’s bottom lip, Joseph starts to move, fast, shallowly. Robert’s hips try to thrust, match his pace; he starts and stops, grunting, digging into Joseph’s hips with his nails.

 

Joseph sits up and clenches around him, giving Robert a view Joseph’s sure he’ll never forget, judging by the appreciative moan Robert makes, one hand coming up to pinch at Joseph’s nipple.

 

Robert stops moving entirely, face utter ecstasy as Joseph rides him, eyes rolling up, lip caught between his teeth. Joseph slows down, earning a long, drawn-out _fuck_ from Robert.

 

Joseph rubs his hands along Robert’s chest. “Have you ever felt this good?”

 

“No,” Robert grunts, voice gravel.

 

“Is my ass as tight as you imagined?”

 

Tighter,” Robert’s breath catches. “You’re so good, I’m…” He moans in lieu of a word.

 

“That’s right, baby,” Joseph says, and, with Robert’s cock deep inside him, wraps his hands tight around his throat.

 

Shock blooms on Robert’s reddening face, but only for a moment. He smirks, lips twitching, and chokes out a single word with a gurgle. _Tighter._

 

Joseph shivers, delighted. This boy would look amazing tied so intricately he can’t move an inch, but—a pleasure for another time. Joseph clenches his hands tighter, sits down on Robert’s cock and grinds.

 

It doesn’t take long. Robert comes in a violent spasm, groaning, twitching, his hands covering his face, then falling to his sides, limp.

 

Joseph pulls Robert up by the neck, brings his lips to his and keeps rocking, slow. “Want me to fuck you?” he whispers.

 

Robert bites Joseph’s lip, stares into his eyes. “Yes, please.”

 

 _This one’s the best_. Joseph knows he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face, but figures it’s appropriate. “You asked for it,” he says, and slides off his cock. He takes a moment to tug the condom off, rub a hand along the shaft and hold it to Robert’s lips. “Good boy,” he murmurs, as Robert licks his hand clean. “Roll onto your knees.” Robert turns on all fours; Joseph places a hand on the back of his neck, presses his face into the mattress. “Like that.”

 

“Okay,” Robert says, voice wavering.

 

It’s not hard to act gentle when Robert is so adorable, so innocent. Joseph kisses the backs of his thighs. “Spread your ass for me, sweetheart.”

 

A muffled groan from the bedsheets. Robert’s hands slowly creep across his ass, tugging. “Like this?”

 

“As wide as you can.”

 

Robert huffs, grumbles, but spreads himself open until Joseph can count every freckle. He runs a finger up and down the cleft. Robert flinches, but holds still, like he’s waiting for more.

 

Joseph can’t resist teasing him. “You really want me to fuck you here?”

 

“Yes, goddammit,” Robert barks.

 

“Now, now, don’t be impatient.” Joseph plants a kiss on his tailbone. “For you, baby, I’m gonna drench my cock in lube. You might not be able to take it otherwise.”

 

“Yeah, I could,” Robert protests, as if he’s offended by Joseph thinking he couldn’t take any cock, anytime, anywhere.

 

“Really? Look at how tight you are.” He pokes his thumb against Robert’s asshole. Robert yelps. “You want me to just shove it in?”

 

Robert snorts. Takes a moment to think that over. “I guess not.”

 

Joseph places his hands over Robert’s. “Turn and watch me.”

 

Reluctantly, Robert obeys, twisting his neck so Joseph can see the wine-red blush coloring his neck, cheeks, the tips of his ears. Joseph retrieves the bottle of lube. He pours a copious amount on his hands, his waist, and the rest directly onto the top of Robert’s ass. It drips. Robert shivers. Joseph rubs it in, working every crevice into a slippery mess. When he’s satisfied, he grasps the backs of Robert’s thighs and, making sure Robert’s still watching, presses the tip of his tongue against his asshole.

 

Robert’s eyes widen. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth. Joseph probes with his tongue until he can feel Robert relaxing against the pressure, rocking against him. He slips a condom onto his forefinger and replaces his tongue with it. It glides in with ease.

 

He rests his chin on Robert’s pert ass, self-satisfied. “That’s one finger inside you.”

 

Robert’s flush deepens. “Shut up.”

 

“Well, that’s no way to thank me.” Joseph inserts a second finger, rubs at Robert’s prostate.

 

Robert makes a sound Joseph’s never heard before, something like a strangled shriek, followed by a loud “Oh, fuck.”

 

That’s Robert, eloquent to a fault.

 

Joseph grins. “That feels good?”

 

Robert tenses. Nods.

 

“Was that so hard to admit?”

 

“I swear if you keep asking stupid—“

 

Joseph presses down on his prostate, hard. Robert continues vocalizing with a much more pleasant sound.

 

The only way to make this better—or perhaps _different_ is a more appropriate word—would be to do it all in public. Robert’s sweet little protests, stifling his voice while Joseph fucks him against a wall, on a bench, in a bathroom, giving people a nice show of what they can't have. But he likes having this Robert to himself, at least for now.

 

Joseph keeps working, rubbing until Robert’s soft and quivering—he gasps and almost falls, legs shaking.

 

Joseph pauses with his fingers still inside him, just about tickled pink from amusement. “Did you come from that?”

 

“How could I not, with you—” His eyes shut, teeth grinding.

 

 _God, he’s so cute._ “If you want me to fuck you, you can’t look away.” Robert swallows, opens his eyes just enough. Joseph braces his palm on the dip in the small of Robert’s back, rubs the lube into his cock, and slaps it on Robert's ass. He groans. “I’m the first one to fuck you here?”

 

“Yeah,” Robert grunts.

 

“The only one.”

 

“Yes.” A whisper.

 

“Say it.”

 

“You’re the only one.”

 

“The only one who what?”

 

“The only one…who can fuck my ass…Joe, please…”

 

Since he’s asking so nicely. Joseph presses the tip of his cock against his ass, rubs it up and down. “Like that?”

 

“No.” Robert’s fingers tremble, still holding himself open. “Put it in.”

 

“Put what—“

 

“Fucking fuck my asshole with your fucking dick, you goddamn son of a bitch!”

 

Laughing, Joseph holds his cock and slowly pushes it inside, easing his progress with light smacks to Robert’s ass, hot and quivering. Robert trembles, exhales a low, gratifying moan. A slick, tight heat swallows Joseph, sending shockwaves of ravenous lust through his core. “Okay, baby,” he whispers. “I’m all the way in. Let go now.”

 

Robert does, and immediately buries his face in his elbows.

 

"Go on, move your hips. I wanna see how you ride."

 

Agonizingly slow, Robert inches his ass up, holding his breath; it's so cute Joseph smacks it again on his way back down, drawing another gasp of a moan from Robert, his teeth buried in his forearm.

 

“Good boy,” Joseph says, and, raking his nails down Robert’s back, gets to work.

 

His cock slides in and out of Robert's thick ass, reddening from all the slaps he's administered. He'd love to flip him on his back and watch his cock bounce against his stomach while he pounds him, but he wouldn't give up this view for the world. Robert’s actually mewling, a high-pitched, unending sigh wrenched from his chest with every thrust. Robert's moans are incomparable. He's never been worked anally before, he wasn't lying; never had anyone lay into him properly. The thrill makes Joseph thrust harder, slick and wet, thighs slapping against the back of Robert’s.

 

Joseph slows down, pulls all the way out, then slides in with a slap across the back of Robert’s thighs. He gasps, shakes. “Your ass is the best I've ever had, baby.” He mounts Robert properly from above, shins to calves, balls to taint, and wraps his biceps around his neck. Robert's increasingly loud moans drown out the slick squish of his thrusts. "Come on, baby boy, keep coming for me." He buries himself completely and gyrates, rubbing his cock against Robert's prostate until he convulses and falls.

 

Joseph doesn’t stop, too close to care about anything but completion. He might have dropped the saccharine sweetness at some point, trading _good boy_ and _sweetheart_ for _fucking slut_ and _filthy whore_ and a firm, firm hand, but Robert really, truly wants it all, deliciously craves every flavor of praise and humiliation in equal measure, exceeding every one of Joseph's expectations. Robert's desperate sobs, begging in a stream of words like _yeah, fuck, come inside me, Joe, Joe, please, fuck me, don’t stop_ get him there; heat ribbons through his core and he fills his ass with hot, sticky cum, thrusting until his pulse beats through his legs, chuckling as he moans his release.

 

They stay suspended like that for an immeasurable time, until Joseph rolls onto his back, closing his eyes. He’s covered in a heavy sheen of sweat, blood tingling through his entire body.

 

He can’t place why—there’s nothing that special about them, either of them, just two stupid, lonely fuck-ups—but he’s never had a fuck like this.

 

With a rustling of sheets, Robert curls up against his chest. Joseph rolls over and slings an arm over him, opens his heavy eyelids, smiling crookedly. He runs a fond hand through Robert’s hair.

 

“I love you,” Robert says, voice raw.

 

The words hit Joseph’s heart like a bitter tonic, a little too late. _I love you._ That’s something he hasn’t heard yet. _Love._ He’d laugh at anyone else, but Robert? God, the poor fool must mean it.

 

An electric impulse seizes him. He opens his eyes, reaches into the messy drawer at the bedside, rummaging until he finds what he’s looking for. Needles and ink. Unused.

 

He takes Robert’s hand in his, kisses the spot between his thumb and forefinger. “Forever?” He traces a circle on Robert’s hand, skimming the flesh with a needle.

 

Robert’s eyes darken, flickering from his hand to Joseph’s face. He wets his lips. Nods.

 

Joseph stares hungrily at the marks he left around Robert’s neck. So easy to crush. So easy to kiss.

 

A darkness seeps from Joseph’s heart to his lungs, through his bloodstream; a darkness thick and intoxicating as poison. It curls his lip, makes his fingers and toes tingle with pleasure. He presses the needle into Robert’s pliant skin. Robert bites back a sharp gasp. The darkness roils, writhes with delight in Joseph’s gut. Possessiveness, yes; that’s what this is. Wanting. Coveting. Ownership.

 

 _This_ , he thinks, heart aflame, _this is new_.

 

He’ll keep that baby blue sweater. It brings out the light in his eyes.

 

_iv._

 

Rob drops the plate of cookies with a resounding crash. He looks up into his new neighbor’s shocked face.

 

His ex-lover, dressed in a bright pink polo and ironed khakis.

 

Rob knows he’s changed, too. God, has he, wearing sweaters, raising a kid as best he can, trying suburbia after the city pulled him back into old habits.

 

But the last time he saw Joe, he was a young sailor in uniform, danger in his prepossessing, steely eyes that brought any man to his knees, cigarette dangling from a full-lipped smirk, cliche leather jacket made fresh on him, an arm around Rob’s shoulder. A new tattoo on his bicep to match the one on Rob’s hand. Stupid, but something any two dumb kids in love would do.

 

Rob thinks he fooled Joe into thinking he was cool, too; rugged and bad. But Joe’s the baddest man he ever met.

 

At least, he used to be.

 

But God, he’s handsome as ever. Maybe more, aged like a fine wine.

 

Joe’s eyes widen, but Rob doesn’t know if it’s because he recognizes him or because he shattered his fine diningware.

 

Joe shrugs it off. “Accidents happen,” he says, and gives Rob a good-natured pat on the shoulder. His eyes are bright as ever, but they’re lined now, tired somehow, the sharp edge tempered into something almost soft. “Nice to meet you. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

 

Rob forces a smile. So that’s how he’s gonna play it. He really has gone soft.

 

It doesn’t take too long for Rob to find out Joe’s married.

 

To a woman.

 

With four kids.

 

He thinks Marilyn knows, after that meeting; suspects something, at least. He goes out. Drinks more, talks less.

 

He has a bad day. Slips. Shots of whiskey and coke in a dirty bar bathroom. Walks through the front door some time the next evening to find his wife splayed on the carpet, a little dark puddle oozing from her skull.

 

He kneels at her side. Her cheeks. Cold. Her neck. No pulse.

 

He vomits. Barbiturates, amphetamines, burning alcohol and bile. His mind is floating somewhere in the corner of the ceiling, far above, watching his body bent over his wife. His wife’s corpse. He thinks, hopes, prays to a God he's not sure he believes in that he's still high, hallucinating a nightmare.

 

Robert’s purged stomach lurches. Val. Where’s Val? She must be home. What time does high school get out nowadays? Robert stumbles into her room, finds her head pressed into the windowpane, hands limp at her sides, digging into her cell phone with her long, dark nails.

 

“I tried to call you, Dad,” she says, voice hollow. “I tried a hundred times.”

 

He calls Joe. He doesn’t know what else to do. On the fifth ring, someone picks up. “Christiansen residence, Joseph speaking.” He sounds confused—a little annoyance only someone who knows him well lurks beneath the honeyed veneer of his tone.

 

Rob’s mouth refuses to work right. His jaw is glued shut.

 

“Hello?” A pause. “Ernest, if this is another prank—”

 

“Joe,” he finally sobs.

 

A rustle, quiet on the other end. “Rob?” A deep whisper. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

 

That only makes him sob harder. “Marilyn’s dead.”

 

Joe runs across the street, hair rumpled, barefoot, clad in a dressing robe and a matching pajama set like he stepped out of a Christmas movie poster. A pastel pink button-down patterned with neat rows of tiny anchors. It's so fucking surreal Robert barks out a laugh.

 

And then he remembers why Joe’s running to him with such a horrible look of pity.

 

He steps inside, takes one look at the scene, at Rob’s face. “Oh, darling,” he breathes, and holds Rob to his chest. “Oh, darling.” Joe rocks him in his arms. Rob buries his face in his neck. He smells the same, without the vanilla extract and starch and cologne. The salt of the ocean. The scent of his skin. He's still Joe.

 

Joe takes care of everything. He lays a sheet over Marilyn. He calls the coroner. He puts an arm around Val's shoulder and waits with her as she cries, comforting her with just the right amount of soothing interjections, a better father to her in the last half hour than Rob’s been his entire life. Joe explains the situation in his soft, commanding tone when the coroners show. He drops Val off at Mat’s. Like another man with a long-dead wife will make her feel better. At least he can’t make her feel worse. He’ll probably make her coffee, set her up with good music, maybe some over-the-counter drugs to knock her out for the night.

 

When Joe gets back, they’re alone. Rob’s mouth is foul, his breath rancid. Joe carefully ushers Rob into his own shower, somehow gets him cleaned up and toweled off and in the freshest clothes he can pick off the floor. Rob refuses to let go of the jacket, can’t be without the scent of leather. He feels like he’s been through a washer. Wrung out. Hung out to dry. Nothing left.

 

Rob’s silent on the drive. Joe’s hands are tight on the steering wheel. He got dressed. There's a gold watch on his wrist. Rob doesn’t know where he’s taking him. He doesn’t particularly care.

 

It's all been for Val. The marriage, the move. He's tried, God knows he's tried to love them as best he can.

 

They end up on his yacht, of course. Where else could they go? The scent of the ocean, the steady rocking of the ship beneath his feet—it’s all there. He stares at Joseph, framed in the sunset. They’re twenty again, kids traveling the world, answering to nothing and no one but each other.

 

Marilyn died hating him for this. The stories he told to keep the truth safe. Secrets and addictions, that’s what Robert Small’s made of.

 

“Rob.” Joe’s voice wrapped around his name cuts through everything. A beacon in this long night. “If there’s anything you need, anything I can do—“ Rob meets his gaze with a sudden, silly burst of hope. Joe falters, understanding that look. “I mean, anything…anything I’m capable of doing.”

 

Rob swallows his disappointment. Not the first time. Not the last. “So. You’re a youth minister.”

 

Joe smiles, a little wistfully. “Yeah. I’m good with kids.” He leans his elbows on the railing, staring off into the horizon. “I figure...if I can't help myself, at least I can help a kid going through…similar troubles.”

 

“So you’re still running. Just disguised it as a good thing.” Rob’s throat closes, burns. “You’ve had twenty years to help yourself.” He can’t stop. The words wrench themselves from the sickness in his gut. “Twenty years. After everything, one call from your father and you just—you _left_ me.”

 

“I know.”

 

There’s pain in Joe’s voice, but Rob can’t trust it. “ _Why_? How could you? You disappeared. No goodbye. No explanation. No nothing.”

 

“If I hadn't, I would have lost everything.”

 

“What, _this_?” Rob gestures wildly at the yacht, the stupid yacht. “Living a lie is worth _this_?”

 

“It's worth _living_ ,” Joe hisses. “You might think it’s pathetic, but it’s better than nothing.”

 

“What the hell does that mean?“ Rob swallows a sudden flash of hot anger. “You really think he would’ve killed you? His only son?”

 

Joe's neck stiffens. "It wasn't my safety I was concerned about," he says, and looks away as soon as he does. Like he didn't mean to say it. The truth.

 

Rob's heart falls to his stomach, then rises to his throat, buoyed by disgust and horror. "You mean that bible-thumping sonuvabitch actually—"

 

“He’s dead now, Robert.” A hint of the old steel in his eyes. “Don’t bring him up again.”

 

“Even more reason to—he can’t hurt you from beyond the grave. You’ve been acting like nothing—like we weren’t—“

 

“I have a family, Robert. So do you. I thought you’d grown up, realized you can’t be selfish.”

 

“ _Selfish_?” Robert storms over to him. He balls Joe’s perfectly-ironed collar in his tattooed fist. “I. _Loved_. You.” He punctuates each word with a rough shake, searching Joe’s face for something, anything. He yanks Joe’s sleeve up, reveals the anchor tattoo. “This was an oath. Forever. And you didn’t take me out here to tell me you’re gonna bring me a fucking casserole.”

 

Joe’s gaze drops to Rob’s hand, his collar. “You’re still wearing my jacket.”

 

“I goddamn sleep in it, you idiot. I _love_ you,” he amends, a desperate plea. “It’s only ever been you.”

 

Joe’s eyes crinkle, and with that, the dam breaks. Lips trembling, tears forming, he exhales the weight of the world, arms wrapping around Rob’s shoulders, soft mouth pressing into his. “I’ve dreamed of you,” he whispers. “Every night for twenty years.”

 

Joe carries Rob as easily as he used to; that hasn’t changed. But in the warm glow of boat lights, he lays Rob on the bed with reverence. Like he’s some delicate fairytale princess to be cherished. “I’m not your wife,” Rob spits. Joe flinches, and he regrets it immediately.

 

“No. But yours just passed away,” Joe reminds him, gently. His hands cup Rob’s cheeks, thumbs catching the tears.

 

Face-to-face, chest-to-chest, hip-to-hip. Joe laces their fingers together. His body feels the same on top of Rob’s, if a little bigger, stronger, the lines on his face more defined, the lines of his torso softer. He used to wear nothing—now he does; a ring, a condom. The ring is an icy burn against Rob’s hot skin. It stings with every touch.

 

Rob only has to glance at the ring and Joe’s tugging it off. “God, of course—I’m sorry, sweetheart, I wasn’t thinking, I—“

 

Rob kisses him harder. “Just make me forget,” he says.

 

He cries the whole time. _I miss—I miss—I missed you_. Words he chokes out endlessly. He begs Joe to fuck him hard and raw, like he did when they were young, but Joe’s too tender now. He kisses Rob’s tears away, smooths his hair back from the sweat on his forehead, whispers a constant refrain. _Baby, honey, it’s okay, I’m here now, I’m back, you have me, I’m yours, I’ll never leave you._

 

He’s always been a good liar.

 

 _For how long?_ Rob thinks, but kisses him anyway, sucking in his breath, hot with exertion. Joe _is_ his, first and always.

 

Joe holds his hands, thumbs drawing comforting circles on his palms. Hips drawing comforting circles against the back of his thighs.

 

Heat spreads in languid, fiery arcs from Rob’s stomach. He trembles. Joe doesn’t have to be rough; he knows Rob’s body better than Rob knows himself, and he clearly hasn’t forgotten. Joe lets go of his hands; Rob buries his nails in his back, deep in the muscles working beneath his skin, wraps his legs around his waist. Joe’s hands wrap around his cock, teasing him, stroking once hard tight and fast before letting go entirely, over and over.

 

Rob can’t control his fingers; his legs twist, heels digging into Joe’s ass. He squeezes his pelvic muscles, trying to hold it back for some stupid reason, and spasms into a dry orgasm, a sharp moan of pleasure escaping him.

 

Joe knows how to make love, really make love, create a whole universe lush and overflowing with his body, his words, just for them. He knows how to keep Rob coming just like that, all night long, if he really wants to. He pulls back, slows down, turns Rob on his side and lifts his leg, cups Rob's balls in a soft hand, kisses him from behind while he rides it out. When Rob stops moaning, when his cock stops twitching against his stomach, that’s when Joe sends his sensitive, shaking body around another bend by stroking the head of his cock, keeping him on the edge. Rob’s legs thrash; he’s still crying, but it’s a different sort of sob now. Joe thrusts and rubs, keeping Rob coming in such rapid succession he’s in a permanent state of bliss, pulling back, bringing him to new peaks of pleasure he hadn’t even reached alone yet, every star in the sky bursting behind his eyes. So many times he forgets his own name.

 

Joe must have come at some point; Rob knows he did, can feel it in the slight tremors of his fingers and thighs—maybe that moment he'd thrust just a little harder, with just a little less control, biting down on the back of Rob's neck to stifle a moan. But he didn't say a damn thing, just kept going, kept Rob coming until his mind went blank, till he had a moment of blissful oblivion, a second of peace.

 

Stupid, selfish, selfless man.

 

Rob’s abs are utterly wrecked in the best way, and he can hardly believe he’s still conscious, let alone able to move his limbs, but he can’t stop. Rob tosses Joe over, and _he_ isn’t gentle, has no reason to be kind. He shoves his fingers inside him, opens him just enough that he can fuck him, fuck every little bit of pain and agony into him. He yanks Joe's hands above his head, pushes his face into the mattress. Angry red marks from Rob’s nails streak his back. He leaves more on his ass, his thighs, while he bites into his neck. Rob fucks him the most vicious way he can, grunting obscenities and insults he really means for himself. Joe moans like a whore, and means it.

 

He stops after he comes, after he’s finally left some goddamn trace of himself inside Joe.

 

And then, of course, he kisses him, kisses him soft, almost as soft as the sad look in Joe’s eyes, a not-quite pity Rob can’t stand to look at, cuddles and smiles until Joe smiles back.

 

Another shower, together, full of tender caresses. Back in bed, Joe’s tied Rob’s sweater around his neck while he smokes, but Rob doesn’t mind. It looks good on him. He can always get it back later.

 

In the middle of the ocean, time is meaningless. Rob has his Joe for tonight. He closes his eyes, leans against Joe's chest, listens to their hearts beating in unison, the sedative effect of the waves lapping against the hull. “What happens tomorrow?” He opens his eyes, traces the outline of Joe's anchor tattoo, the wheel on his hand in constant orbit.

 

“Tomorrow, we go back.” Joe runs a hand through Rob’s hair, kisses the tip of his nose with a sorry excuse for a smile. “We always go back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Every sin I’ve ever pondered,  
> Every nightly path I’ve wandered  
> Every white lie I have laundered  
> Brings me back to you.
> 
> It happens a thousand times, a thousand ways. All that matters is this:
> 
> It happens.
> 
> (I don’t know which I want to be true, either.)
> 
>  
> 
> [ If you need more roseph from me and haven't read this one yet, here's the fic of my soul](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11652366)


End file.
